


Wood Witch

by DreadArtemis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Awkward Romance, F/F, Fantasy, Feminist Themes, Horror, Lesbian Character, Men Crying, POV Lesbian Character, Queer Themes, Revenge, Romance, Sexual Harassment, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadArtemis/pseuds/DreadArtemis
Summary: Feminist folk horror with vengeance and lesbians. One of a series of short writing experiments.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character





	Wood Witch

I was not sure they would let me into the free house, being as I look so young. I am not that young. One-half a twelvemonth and I shall be eighteen. I garnered a few looks as a girl alone might here, but nobody said anything as I entered. The Wizard and Wyvern, it is called. It seems very common and dull for such a name, but it is warm near the fireplace and the landlady smiles and calls me ‘Petal’ as she serves me my bowl of stew. It has droplets of oil sitting on the surface of the gravy and smells passable. I would eat it even if it did not, for the heavens know I am near starving and I have spent my very last silver in the buying of it.

I am not sure what I shall do now. I suppose I shall have to leave after I have finished eating. I have already asked if there is any work here but there is not. I have nowhere left to go. My parents are gone. My home is gone. It has been but days and I cannot speak of it. I cannot even allow myself to think of it lest I lose what little composure I have left to cling to. I will not cry here. I will not let these strangers see my sorrow. I abhor the thought.

From the corner of my eye, I see a heavy-set man at one of the tables, his dark hair greasy and trailing down his forehead like the tails of black rats. He sits with two companions, one bald and pock-marked, the other bony and braying like a donkey. The dark-haired man is leering at the serving girl who pours his beer.

She is lovely. Her hair is like red gold and hangs in a thick plait down her back. Her skin is smooth and white and her cheeks like damask rose. If I had been able to befriend anyone in this town I would have liked it to be her. I have seen her many a time and always felt drawn to her. Sometimes she notices and smiles at me. She smiled again as I came in just now. I have heard the landlady call her Aldith. I think it a wonderful name.

The man puts his arm around her clumsily and it is plain that he is addled with drink. She is obviously uncomfortable but she seems afraid to do anything lest he becomes violent. I have known the feeling. It makes me sick to my stomach and I am about to go over there to intervene when she finishes filling his cup and manages to pull away and make haste for the kitchen. I feel relieved. Indeed, these are not folk I should wish to show any weakness before. Men of this sort need no excuse but I shall not make it easy for them nevertheless. In the past I have never come in here without my father.

I look back to my stew, warming my hands on the bowl as it steams.

With the spending of my last coin I have only a few things to my name: a blanket, a few clothes and personal items that could be salvaged from the ashes, an armful of books and one small dagger. The knife is tiny, its grip wrapped in black leather and bound with criss-crossing cords. A topaz half as long as my thumb sits at the end of the handle, yellow as melted butter. I have the dagger concealed within my left sock, up the inside of my ankle.

We are only lately come to this town. It is small and remote and its people are suspicious by nature. It is no great centre of learning, not to put too fine a point on it. My family had won no friends here as yet. After it happened, I ran to the nearest house and thumped upon the door with the side of my fist, knocking flakes of ancient paint to the ground as I shook it. I told the squinting, gurning man who answered that my name was Maikka, I lived over yonder and I needed help. I begged him with tears in my eyes. He slammed the door in my face and would come no more. I sank to my knees, weak with terror, and wept upon his doorstep. No-one here would help me.

We had had friends before, in other places. Or my parents did, I suppose. I began to consider that finding them might be my only chance. But now I have no money for travel. I would sell the dagger but it is.. or was.. my father's and I cannot bear to part with it. I should rather starve.

I sit alone at my table and am not sure if I am lonely or content.

I suppose I will think on all these things as I fill my belly. I can stay here as long as I am eating, at least.

The greasy man rises unsteadily to his feet and spins on his heel to face the bar. He staggers forth, no doubt to bother the kind lady behind it and my heart lurches as he stumbles and hops on one foot in the direction of my table. He has lost his precarious balance. It is all I can do to lean away as his hand slaps down onto the tabletop and skids along it, hitting the side of my bowl and upending it. The stew is everywhere. Not a single drop did I taste and now it is all gone, sprayed across the bench and onto the floor. The last hot meal I could afford. The spoon remains in its spot, neatly mocking me, not an inch out of place.

Worse than that, he continues to slide off the table until he stretches partly over my lap, grabbing at my thighs with his meaty hands to steady himself

For a moment I cannot speak. Then I cannot stop myself from shrieking denial into the air, clutching at his arm and crying ‘What have you done?!’

He leans up and frowns at me, though his eyes do not focus on me well, somehow confused that I should react like this. I suppose he is not used to women making a fuss over his behaviour. He sneers and the stench of his breath hits me like a wall. It is repulsive. I cannot bear to be near him. I want him to go. I want him to leave. I want him to get away from me, please, someone. I am frozen in place, clenching my teeth, every muscle in my body is tensed and trembling. I look straight ahead and pray to all the gods to make him go away from me before I break.

To my horror, he leans in closer. My field of vision is filled with his vile skin, blotchy and sweat-damp.

‘Go cry to yer mammy about it, noisome little bitch.. Or why don't you come sit upon my knee and give me a little kiss, and maybe I'll buy you another if you're a good girl, eh?’

‘Get away from me!’ I choke. He does not listen. I pull the knife from my ankle and move to point it at him but he knocks it from my hand and I watch, bereft, as my only protection spins and skids across the tavern’s wood floor. He tries to push me along the bench to make space for himself at my side and I am too taken up with resisting that I do not see Aldith pick up my knife. It seems that she suddenly appears next to me, holding it out to fend him off. He takes a couple of steps back, but then lunges and fastens one large hand around her arm to try and wrest the weapon off her.

I can hold it no more. The dam inside me breaks.

Tears stream from my eyes and I scream, I roar, I shriek. I release all of the anguish in me, not just of this day, this man, but of all the days and all the men that have ever been. Including the men who said my mother was stuck-up and that they were only being friendly, who came back with flaming torches. I cannot stop. I am like a banshee, a deathless terror in the night. Then I strike him, with all the force I can muster, in the nose with the heel of my palm. I feel a thrill in my stomach at the satisfying pop.

He releases Aldith and she backs away into the bar. He is reaching for his bleeding face.

The bones of my hands ache as they become claws. At first only in the way I am holding them, but then more so. My nails are longer, more pointed. My hands are twisting. My body is twisting. Something is coming out of me in my rage. I know not what. Harpy? Hag? Merrow? It matters not. I cannot stop it.

The claws enclose his bulging neck now and I am slamming him into the wall like it is nothing, as if his large body were a ragdoll. I choke him and choke him and to see his eyes boggle and his mouth say nothing but gasps for air is almost pleasing. But it is not, and I am still enraged, barely stopping myself from ripping out his bastard throat with my teeth. The creature's teeth, for they are long like needles and many in number. I can feel them with my tongue. They are sharp. I taste the metallic flavour of blood.

‘Monster..!’ he gargles.

This further indignity moves me to disgust and I drop him roughly to the floor. I feel strangely calm now, like my anger has turned cold. My hair falls before my face and I glare through it where it parts. It is tangled and blacker than his.

‘You dare call me monster when all this is your fault?! When you pushed me to this?! It is all your doing!’ I say, and my voice is changed too, harsh and deep. ‘I would kill you right here if you were not so beneath me.’

Many of the patrons have exited the establishment by this time. Some remain in the back, squatting behind their tables. The man's two lackeys are also still here. The landlady crouches behind the bar.

I see Aldith cling to the counter at her back, watching me with large eyes. Oddly she seems to be leaning forward as if she wants to step closer.

The man has realised that he is bleeding and squirms now, heaving in great breaths, pulling a fat coin-purse from his belt and throwing it to the ground before me. He starts to plead with me to leave him be, that I can have everything he has on him if I just let him go.

One of his accomplices squeaks the word ‘witch’ in my direction. There is a waver in his voice.

I find myself smiling. Witch. A word of such power. A woman who strikes fear into the hearts of men. Perhaps fear is a kind of respect. Perhaps it is enough. It is better than the alternative.

I pick up the coin-purse and find it bursting with gold pieces. The men flee from the place as I am bending down. Good riddance.

I take a couple of the gold coins and place them on the bar, for the good landlady's trouble.

Aldith still watches. I stop to watch her back for a moment. No person has ever looked at me this way. She looks.. fascinated. I find myself reaching out my hand to her. It looks normal again. Just a normal girl’s hand with skinny fingers and chewed nails.

She places the dagger in my palm and I laugh and shake my head. I replace it in my sock and reach out again.

And she takes that step forward to take my hand in her own, uncertainly. It is soft as silk and warm as a summer's day. How it soothes me. We leave together without a word. I suppose we will talk about where we are going shortly but for now we are simply going.

Witch.. I did always like the woods.


End file.
